Paranoid
by not-the-devil-yet
Summary: Set after 4/8 Main Event. Dean's left alone in an empty hallway. Obviously, he gets a bit paranoid.


**A/N: Written based on last night's Main Event.**

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Fuck.

His favorite word. His _only_ word. His entire body hurt, really, but his ribs were in the most pain. He couldn't remember exactly _whose_ fault it had been; the last few minutes of the match had been but a flurry of bodies, a mix of justice and injustice and rage and pain and shouting and

_Fuck._

Why did they have to face the Wyatt Family? _Again_? He knew that it was a good show, and excellent entertainment, and whatever else the fuck Vince had called it before, but that didn't matter. What mattered was the fact that Bray and his cronies were fucking _creepy as hell_ and that Dean wanted no part in any of it. He didn't even really want to _see_ them, much less _face_ them.

But, as it tends to go in the WWE, he didn't have much of a choice.

The match was on Main Event. Not the biggest stage of them all, nowhere near it, but still suitable for a half hour brawl. The match was set; the Shield versus the Wyatts. It had happened before, and it had been a difficult fight, too, but he didn't have any doubt. The Shield would prevail; it always inevitably did. A win was a win, and he wouldn't complain, but _fuck_. A pin gave them the victory, sure, but at the cost of his entire body being enveloped in one long, throbbing pain. Nothing was broken, nothing was bleeding or ruptured, nothing was in critical condition. He was fine, just sore. Really fucking sore.

The other two insisted on staying behind, waiting until after the doctor checked him out and cleared him, waiting until after the pain subsided a bit. Dean argued, as he usually did, that they could leave. _Go, I'll be fine_, he told them at _least_ three times, but they weren't having it. Well, _Seth_ wasn't having it; he was pretty sure Roman would be just fine with leaving. But no, God forbid Seth not get his way. God forbid Dean get some fucking peace and quiet for once. God forbid-

"Hey, did you guys hear something?" Seth asked, and as if on cue, all three men looked down the hallway. It wasn't late. Hell, the show had just ended maybe five or ten minutes ago. Fifteen if he wanted to be sure. Dean wasn't about to be all jumpy and paranoid; he knew better. He had faced far too many obstacles before to be afraid of a gang of swamp-born, dumb as a rock, hillbilly idiots. There were very few things on this planet that frightened him (or that he would own up to), and the Wyatts were not on that list. Besides, hadn't Bray said before that fear was his fuel? It was something like that, wasn't it? Dean didn't believe it, but still; fear showed weakness. And if there was one thing that the Shield was not, it was weak.

"The show just ended, dumbass." he blurted out, excusing his friend's question just like that. Or at least trying to. After a few moment's of silence, Roman eventually gave in to his teammate's foul attitude (as he tended to inevitably do), and without even running it by Seth, he spoke.

"You sure you'll be alright on your own?"

Seth looked to the two half astonished, half pissed off, and this elicited a chuckle from Dean before he replied.

"That's what I've been _telling_ you for a half hour now."

"Alright, alright..." the two across from Dean looked to each other in an expression that could only be described as saying '_Fuck you for just dragging me around like I'm a damn CHILD..._', and the thought of that exact argument happening in the hotel soon made the Cincinnati native actually chuckle. It just made his ribs hurt more - okay, maybe laughing was a bad idea on his part - but at least the other two were walking away now. If he had anything, at least he now had some peace and quiet. Finally.

It was then that he heard a sound. It sounded like maybe footsteps. He didn't worry, didn't panic. _It's probably just Ziggler, or Coulter, or...somebody like that_, he thought to himself. A part of him knew that was a lie. A part of him knew good and _damned_ well who was walking around and lurking backstage. He didn't _want_ to know who it was, he didn't _want_ to be left all alone in an empty hallway with sore ribs, a sore back, a sore _everything_ and a creepy demonic creature thing lurking around him...but that was _exactly_ how he was right now.

The footsteps were heard again, this time closer.

_Fuck._

"Stay the hell away from me." he called out, warned the origin of those damned footsteps. He would fight if he had to. He would defend himself against Wyatt _alone_ if he had to, he didn't care. He wasn't afraid. He wasn't paranoid. He wasn't terrified or frightened or scared or- "I mean it. Fucking back off."

They were closer. Just around the corner, it sounded like. Dean could very well just walk off and leave, but he wouldn't do that. That would be cowardly. That would be fearful. That would be _weak_.

"Back. _Off_." he spoke again, enunciated clearly and boldly so as to not be misunderstood. He watched the corner, expected fully for Bray Wyatt, the Eater of Worlds, the God or Devil or whatever the fuck he had claimed to be, to emerge from behind the corner. He would probably say something creepy, too, like _Evening, sweetie, _or_ boy, _or_ darlin'_. He would be his usual creepy self, and he would get his goddamned teeth punched in. He would be regretting his decision...that was, if it had been Bray Wyatt who had emerged from behind the corner.

But no, it wasn't. Quite the opposite, actually.

"You alright, bro?" a voice questioned, but Dean was too pissed off to respond at this point.

"Fuck off." he forced himself to say, but Ryder was persistent.

"You sure? You sounded pretty scared just a second ago-"

"Fuck. _Off." _he spat out before forcing himself off of the wall, hissing quietly and holding a hand to his ribs as he walked (more like slightly limped) off and away, leaving Ryder to just simply shrug and depart on his own way.

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**A/N: At least he gets time in fanfiction...**


End file.
